Cities of Rust

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Cities of Rust Page 12

by Ariel Bonin


  "If you had stayed, you would have died, too."

  "'Till death do us part.' I made him a promise. I was supposed to be there," she choked out, her voice overflowing with anguish.

  That hit home for Andrew. He'd made the same promise to Kelly and failed in an even bigger way than Lindsey. She hadn't betrayed her husband. What she'd done was purely survival. He, on the other hand, had abandoned his wife when she needed him the most—and he had no good excuse for it. He'd been a coward.

  Suddenly, it dawned on him. Maybe there was a promise they could make each other after all.

  Andrew stroked the delicate curve of her neck with his thumb and pulled her forward so their foreheads touched. "I promise I will fight for you—us, till my last breath. I need you to promise me the same thing. I saw it in you that morning at the cabin. Fight as hard as you can, and when the day comes—" He cleared his throat uncomfortably. The day when I don't make it. "There will be no guilt. We can't just survive anymore. We need to live."

  Lindsey inhaled through her nose, and then nodded as she carefully blew out the breath. When she looked up at him, she was more focused than he had ever seen her.

  "I promise," she whispered.

  _____

  Lindsey stared at Andrew and, for once, actually felt hopeful. She knew it wouldn't last, but in this moment, she just needed to focus on anything positive. The resolute look in his eyes almost convinced her that everything would be okay. Almost.

  Andrew tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and pulled her in for a kiss. His lips were soft and moved over hers with aching tenderness. It scared her to care for someone this much again. She had promised him she would do anything and everything to keep them both alive. If she found herself in the same situation again—where she'd have to make a choice between running and living, or staying and dying—she'd go down swinging. This was it—her last chance for happiness. Yeah, maybe she could run to survive, and find another group or another man to share those lonely nights. Lindsey wasn't ready to admit it to him, but one thing she knew for sure was that Andrew Flynn would be the last man she ever loved.

  "We should get some rest. Tomorrow's going to come sooner than we think," Andrew murmured against her lips. She could tell he was reluctant to let her go, and she wasn't ready just yet.

  Lindsey reached for him and pressed her hungry mouth to his. Her fingers threaded through the dark hair on the back of his neck. She inhaled his scent, pulling him closer. Andrew matched her desire and she could feel his arousal, hard against her hip.

  Now it was her turn to be reluctant. Gently, but firmly, Lindsey pushed him back so she could look into his eyes. There was a hint of disappointment in his gaze, but she knew he understood.

  "See you in the morning?" she whispered.

  "Sure thing," he replied as he stood.

  She smiled. "Good night, Andrew."

  "G' night, Linds," he said, and closed her door.

  They hadn't discussed this new nickname he had for her. Surprisingly, her husband had never called her "Linds," just the occasional "Lin." Andrew had only used "Linds" a few times, but it was clear that it was reserved for intimate situations.

  She definitely liked it.

  _____

  Early the next morning, there wasn't a soul in the common room, and Lindsey found that to be a relief. She was far too hungry to talk. She strode into the pantry and lazily scanned the shelves. A cup of noodles caught her eye; mostly because she didn't have the energy to do much more than boil water. She started one of the portable camp stoves and put a kettle of water on the burner.

  Right as she poured water into the Styrofoam cup, she heard approaching footsteps. Dean strolled into the room, and Lindsey had to suppress a sigh.

  Oh, come on. Can't I just eat my noodles in peace?

  "Well, good mornin'. Got enough hot water to share?" he inquired, sounding overly pleasant.

  Guess not.

  "Sure," Lindsey answered with a tight smile.

  He seized a mug from the rack of clean dishes and dropped in a spoonful of instant coffee. She was suddenly aware of his large frame as he stood in close proximity to her to fill his mug with boiling water. Feeling a bit unnerved, she made her way to a table on the other side of the room. She began eating, trying not to burn her mouth in the process. She groaned inwardly when he came to stand on the other side of her table.

  "May I?" he asked. The aroma of his coffee wafted through the air and tickled her nose. She was surprised to find that the smell reminded her of Andrew. She pictured him, sound asleep in his cot, and wished he was by her side at that moment.

  "It's a free country."

  "You're not kidding." He smiled ruefully and slid into the seat across from her.

  After taking another bite, she glanced up at him, as he had yet to say anything for a moment. He was taking a sip of coffee, his eyes locked onto her over the rim. It was difficult to judge what he was thinking, and this was not the kind of silence she craved. She plopped her fork into the cup and leaned forward as she clasped her hands on the table.

  "So, Dean, what's your story?" she asked with mock enthusiasm.

  Dean set down his mug and smirked. "Well, my story is the same as the next guy's: too many dead people walking around and not enough food for the living." He paused to lean in closer. "I am more interested in your story; how a woman like you could survive for this long, alone..."

  Lindsey sighed, feeling a vine of iciness spread across her back. "And what makes you think that I'm alone?"

  Dean pointed at her hands. "You're not married. I've seen no sign of a boyfriend or kids."

  She certainly wasn't going to give up any personal information—at least, not yet. "Are you saying that women aren't capable of taking care of themselves? That we're weak?" she challenged, her voice quiet.

  His expression grew serious. "No, not at all. I've just seen some sick shit out there."

  Lindsey nodded, her eyes haunted. She'd heard stories, experienced some of it herself—and she thought the world was screwed up before. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She really was, too. There were things she wished she could un-see.

  Dean must have seen those unpleasant thoughts shadow over her features because he quickly changed the subject. "I'm just glad that I've found myself holed up with a good group of people, finally. The scenery ain't bad either," he said, a suggestive hint in his deep voice.

  Lindsey felt flattered, but very much wanted to tell him to save his breath. Dean was a decent-looking man, but she was entirely committed to Andrew. Nothing was going to change that. She bit the inside of her cheek and looked up at him from under her dark lashes. He was waiting for her response, a flirtatious grin playing at his lips. She gave him a rigid smile and stood up.

  "Well, thank you for this lovely chat. I hope you have a good rest of your day, Dean," she said in what she hoped was a friendly, but uninterested, tone.

  Lindsey turned away before he could reply. She tossed the empty cup in the trash and dropped her fork into the wash basin. She was almost to the door when Dean called to her. She looked over her shoulder, her face expressionless. It appeared that he wanted to say something important but, instead, shook his head with a slight smile. "Never mind. Have a good day."

  Lindsey gave him a small nod and walked out of the common room, feeling his gaze on her back the entire way.

  Chapter 12

  About a week later, Andrew checked the outer perimeter of the fences, making his way to stand guard at the front gate. The air was noticeably cooler. He was not ready to begin preparations for winter, but it would have to be dealt with at some point in the near future.

  On his way past the garden, he came across Dean. The other man was taking a break from his grueling work.

  "Mornin'," Dean said with a slight toast of his water bottle.

  Andrew nodded in a polite manner and stopped to chat for a minute. He'd heard about Lindsey's uncomfortable breakfast with Dean. The two men hadn't spoken much since being i
ntroduced, so he didn't want to bring up Lindsey outright, but after some futile small talk, Dean made it easy for him.

  "It's not every day you see a girl like that," Dean stated in awe.

  Andrew glanced to where Dean was currently ogling. Lindsey stood on top of the bus, an assault rifle cradled in her arms. Her dark blonde hair was up, exposing her toned shoulders and lightly-tanned skin. To top it off, her tight black pants hugged her backside so perfectly, it made Andrew ache.

  He had a feeling the following exchange would not be a civil discussion.

  "Who? Lindsey?" Andrew asked, trying to sound surprised.

  "Who else would I be talking about? Don't tell me you haven't noticed!" Dean said, his tone incredulous.

  "Oh, I've noticed," Andrew mumbled under his breath.

  "Answer this: How can a guy like me get with her?" he asked in a hushed voice.

  "You don't," Andrew replied curtly.

  Dean eyed him with curiosity. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. "No! Are you hittin' that?"

  Andrew didn't answer him. He just stared straight ahead and chewed on the inside of his lip. He was afraid he would end up saying something he'd regret.

  "Wow, good for you." Dean paused. "I had no idea she had a daddy complex."

  Andrew's eyebrows drew together as he tilted his head to look at Dean. "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me right. Aren't you old enough to be her father?" he goaded with a leering grin.

  Andrew smirked. "Don't let the gray fool you. I could still knock your teeth in," he threatened in his deep drawl as he turned to face the other man. "You stay away from Lindsey."

  "Or what?" Dean challenged.

  Andrew leveled his gaze and said quietly, "I'll kill you."

  Dean appeared to be sizing him up. "Your group wouldn't let you get away with that."

  Andrew shrugged. "Shit happens." He turned back to his original path and headed toward the bus. He had something he needed to do.

  _____

  Lindsey noticed that Andrew was headed her way. The man moved with purpose. His smooth, sexy swagger always left her weak in the knees.

  "Hi there," Lindsey practically purred as he climbed up to stand beside her.

  She was surprised when he didn't respond. His eyes glittered with suppressed danger as he pulled her against him and kissed her senseless. He had never kissed her like this before. It was primal and voracious, as if he were claiming possession of her.

  Lindsey let out an involuntary moan against his mouth and he released her. He hardly seemed shaken, whilst Lindsey felt faint.

  What was that about?

  Andrew glanced over his shoulder and Lindsey peered behind him, where Dean was openly glaring at them. Now it made sense to her. Andrew really had been demonstrating what was his, and she couldn't help but get aroused at the thought.

  There was a stifled giggle, and Lindsey caught sight of Caren attempting to hide a grin. Robert simply gaped at the scene that had just played out. The two were replacing a support board in the fencing nearby. In her moment of passion, Lindsey had forgotten they were there. It was safe to say that the secret was out—Andrew had just announced their status to the entire group.

  It was going to happen eventually. Why not today?

  Lindsey smiled at Andrew, happiness radiating from her entire body. She didn't think she would ever feel this way again—it felt so damn good.

  A turner moving past the fence caught her eye, and she ended up doing a double-take. This one was old. They had seen their fair share of aged turners, but it was easy to spot those from the beginning. It was shocking to think they could still get around, let alone walk. She continued to watch the shambling corpse. Something about him stood out to her. He was missing his jaw, almost all of his hair, and his entire left arm. There was no way he was recognizable, as he had been reduced to just rotted muscle and bones. The originating bite wound, located on his shoulder, was clearly exposed. His pants were shredded up to the thighs, and only the top of his shirt remained. Underneath more than one year of filth and gore were the letters S-C-O-T, before a giant rip cut off the last letter.

  Holy shit.

  The smile on her face melted away. For a moment, she thought as if she might suffocate.

  "Lindsey?" Andrew asked, attempting to see what she was looking at.

  Without warning, she moved from his embrace, jumped down, and ripped open the gate. She could barely hear Andrew calling to her. Her boots crunched on the dead grass as she ran across the uneven terrain surrounding the school. She came to stand behind the turner—and immediately knew it was him.

  "Jared?" she breathed.

  The turner cocked his head at the sound of her voice and swung around to face her. Lindsey choked out a sob, and began to wail.

  _____

  Andrew was sure she didn't hear him come up behind her. On the other hand, he had heard her say what sounded like "Jared." There was no possible way it could be her late husband, but the look on her face told him otherwise. The turner shuffled forward, and yet, she didn't move. Andrew gripped his Beretta, poised to take action if needed.

  "Lindsey…" he warned.

  She reached for her gun as Jared started to advance. As she stepped back, her heel caught on a rock and she stumbled. Right as she lifted her gun, there was a sharp crack, and Jared's body dropped on the spot. Lindsey let out a cry of complete anguish. She clambered across the ground and knelt over the deceased man.

  The gun that finished off Jared was too loud to be Lindsey's Glock. Andrew scanned the area inside the school and caught sight of Dean standing on top of the bus, a rifle in his hands. If looks could kill, Dean would be more lifeless than the turner Lindsey was mourning over.

  Other turners were now closing in. He and Lindsey were attracting too much attention. He needed to get her inside before they became swarmed.

  Andrew quickly got down next to her and grasped her arm. She yanked it away.

  "Linds, we need to get back inside the fences," he told her gently, but with urgency.

  "I-I can't leave him…"

  "We won't. We'll come back for him, but we've got to go."

  She shook her head, insistent. "No, I'm not leaving him again."

  He could tell she was in shock, as she was disregarding their dire situation. The turners were only a few yards away now. He didn't want it to come to this, but she left him no choice. Andrew clenched his jaw and wrapped his arms around her waist, throwing her over his shoulder.

  Lindsey kicked and pounded on his back. "No! Put me down, dammit! Andrew, please!" she begged through her tears.

  Andrew refused to put her down, and by the time they reached the gate, she had quit struggling. Caren and Robert were waiting to let them in. They looked horrified by what they had just witnessed. Andrew set Lindsey down and she collapsed to the ground. With her face buried in her hands, she continued to sob.

  Andrew's chest hurt—not from carrying her—but because his heart was breaking for her. He wished he could take away the pain, but he'd been there himself. There was nothing he could do to make her feel better, and it devastated him.

  "Caren, Robert, could you do me a favor?" When they nodded, Andrew asked, "Could you wrap up his body and bring it in for burial?"

  Robert stepped closer and spoke in a hushed tone. "Is it who we think it is?"

  Andrew nodded. "It's her husband."

  _____

  Lindsey drowned in her grief, paying no attention to everything that was happening around her. All she could picture was the ghastly image of her dead husband. She'd convinced herself that someone had put him out of his misery early on; that he had been at peace this whole time.

  Raised voices broke through her stupor. She lifted her head to see Charlie standing next to Andrew, while Dean was directly across from them at the base of the school bus.

  "What the hell was that?" Andrew growled.

  Dean took a step forward. "I was protecting her, because you seemed to be doing a pretty shitty j
ob of it!"

  Andrew practically snarled and lunged at the man, but Charlie pulled him back. Lindsey took the opportunity to spring to her feet. She got into Dean's face and shoved him backward.

  "You bastard! That was my husband, he was my responsibility! Not yours! You took that from me!" She imagined that she appeared completely unhinged, but didn't care. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but you need to mind your own goddamned business!"

  Dean was staring past her, undoubtedly embarrassed to have been chewed out by a woman a head shorter than him. When she finished, he inhaled audibly through his nose, as if he were sucking up his pride, and looked down at her. "You're right. I was out of line. I'm sorry," he said, sounding sincere.

  Lindsey glowered at him. "'Sorry' doesn't fix what you did."

  She turned back toward the school, refusing to meet anyone's piteous gaze. The adrenaline she'd experienced was wearing off, only to be exchanged with crushing heartache.

  _____

  Andrew found Lindsey in her room, sitting on the floor, with her back against the cot. She had to have been uncomfortable, but he was sure she didn't notice. He knelt in front of her and she glanced up at him. Her eyes were tired, bleak.

  Andrew reached out to cradle her face in his hands. She closed her eyes on a sigh and leaned into his touch. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. His lips lingered for a moment as he also closed his eyes. They stayed like that, savoring the closeness.

  "What do I do now, Andy?" Lindsey mumbled.

  "The same as before. First, though, you need closure." He hesitated at the touchy subject. "We got Jared. We're waiting for you so we can bury him."

  Lindsey gazed at him, her wet eyes shining in the shadowy room. Andrew was surprised when she leaned in and kissed him softly on the mouth.

  "Thank you."

  _____

  Robert, Caren, Zoey, and Charlie waited patiently by the open grave. When Lindsey was ready, Andrew nodded to Charlie to begin the service. He wasn't sure how many more of these he could take. They were becoming an unwelcome ritual.

 

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